Dear Ashmoon: sorry about the very late update (omg it's been a long time) but that's coz I've got to apply to colleges and I've got loads of exams to get through. I came back as soon as I could…please don't smack me!
"And so do you believe that? That Ron is dead by now?" Harry asked, and, without waiting for an answer, "'Cause I've had that dream too, a while ago."
Then, in a voice so resolute that Malfoy looked up, "And I thought it was bullshit."
"I've heard about the accident." Head of Emergency Department sat down opposite a man who was quiet for the past few fifteen minutes. The man stood for the whole time while he took out some papers, looked through them line by line with a precise but painstakingly slow accuracy, signed his name on the bottom of the last page, called for someone, handed over the documents whilst reminding the secretary to make sure that all of the documents are to be delivered with extreme promptness, and finally sat down.
Once or twice the man looked towards the clock on the wall, following the tick and tocks of the mechanic, supposing that his presence over here was not at all what it seems to be like. He was called in for a 'quick word'with the Head of the Department, which resulted in completely the contrary. He ruffled his messy hair, a habit he developed for passing unnecessary waiting time. He couldn't get rid of the habit. Everything was too unnecessary nowadays, though he had the thought that he had no one but himself left to blame. His raven hair partially blocked his view for a moment, and then he let his shoulder loose and laid his head back for a little while.
"James," The officer caught him quite off-guard, "I need to ask you something."
The man stood up straight now, trying in a pathetic attempt to smooth his hair back, though the motive had nothing to do with politeness, but to weariness he had developed over the day. A nothing but ghastly day. He sighed.
"I supposed you could, I was free for the entire fifteen minutes." He nearly yawned, but had the decency to stifle it before it became an inevitable urge.
"Were you aware that you were just about to be promoted the other day, to the main hospital in London, as the Head of the Physics-Healing?" The officer asked uneasily, taking into account that the other was hardly attentive at all.
"No," he felt indifferent, promoted or not promoted.
"Well, fair enough then, there's no harm done if you haven't yet the slightest idea about it." the officer cleared his throat. "Though I must say it wasn't a very pleasant thing to hear, that one of our patients have been reported missing, under your supervision."
Harry could not agree more.
"Seeing that this is not just any regular case, I need you to go through your memory. I need to hear out your side of the story."
"There's not much left to say. Ron- the Auror, he just…disappeared."
"Any suggestions as to how this came to be so?"
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He couldn't imagine the look on the other's face if he blurted out that it was Voldemort who was behind this, and that the disappearance of the important patient held much more disturbing details than could be summoned by the rumors.
"…No." He was glad the messy hair did something productive for once. The look on his face must've been ridiculously stupid. If he knew something and yet held it back, that would raise suspicions, which meant more unnecessary queries--the last thing that he needs right now.
The officer raised a questioning eyebrow at this, got up from his seat and walked towards Harry. "You know something that I don't, which is OK if you decide to maintain your choice to keep it from us, but what good will it do? You know that it would mean trouble from the hospital, yes? It's not just a case; it's the first and only bloody case in the whole of London in this century, as far as everybody knows."
"I've not yet reported anything to the questionings raised outside yet."
"Clever. It'll be some fantastic selling point on the news if you ever do. This hospital will be ruined."
"I believe you had something more important than this to tell me," Harry hope he didn't sound impatient, because cross his heart, that was all he had ever felt since he stepped into that boring room.
"Yes, then I'll get straight to the point, James, and that is you will be forced to quit. No matter how you explain or how things turn out, there'll be no room for contemplating for the loss out reputation will have to suffer. If the patient ran out by himself, which I hope is the case, then our both-sided security system will have to be questioned; either way, if the patient was forced out of the hospital, then I'm afraid there'll be something else instead of questioning."
"Good." Harry's reply came out of the blue like a bullet.
"Pardon?"
"When will it take effect then? The firing bit, I mean," Harry started to take off his white robes.
Harry walked slowly through the foggy lawn which led to his apartment. His legs are aching in pain, like it had never been before. There were more than a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, half of them rotating around the dilemma of whether or not to accept Malfoy's offer. Of course it was more than an offer, but Harry would never think of it that way. He still had the choice in his hands, just like he had the keys to his cozy apartment, which seemed the most luxurious haven for him in a time like now. He raced up the slippery steps, noting on the second one up which held a little hollow in which rainwater never seemed to evaporate.
Harry breathed in and out repeatedly for at least ten times in a row. Realizing that his beliefs were the only ones left in this universe that shines hope unto the darkened land of desperation, Harry found it hard to start the plot of his plan.
Rescuing Ron. It could be so simplified, and yet at the same time, so damn difficult. He searched for the surge of energy that would always course through him when he was determined to do something.
Yes, his faith is still there, and so is his strength. But something in him tells him that this isn't enough. Harry closed his eyes. What took over was nothing like inspiration or relaxation. Instead, there was a long tunnel stretching out in front of him, and, for a long time, Harry found it difficult to breathe. It's as if he'd been trapped in a vacuum. One short breath would be echoed into eternity and never come back. Don't even think about exhaling.
Harry gagged, eyes opening in alarm. There was a brief moment when he simply swore that he would never close his eyes again. He touched the bolt of lightning on his sweaty forehead, now cold as if he was a statue.
He glanced over to his bed, a mess amidst all the other messes in his small flat. The space was just a little wider than his office in the hospital. He felt suffocated. Looking out of the window, he saw a big, modern poster, advertising a new perfume brand. Pedestrians walked along the sidewalk: some with a slow, sleepwalking motion, some fast-paced as if racing for some life-and-death matter. Cars zoomed across the streets, stoplights turned red just as another motorcycle managed to make it through. Harry reached over and pulled the lock free. The glass swung open with a little squeak, giving way to yet another ordinary evening.
A tide of cool air rushed into his flaring nostrils, as Harry took another deep breathe. He stared at the city below him, this time no more a virtual image. As he did so, a huge bang sounded behind him, the half-shut doors of his closet slamming against the change of pressure. Harry looked back to see a small picture frame swinging from side to side, clinging dangerously upon the wooden door, threatening to fall any second.
He didn't hesitate to dive for it.
A girl in the picture held a grin on her face when Harry turned it right side up, one side of her mouth lifting upwards to reveal the innocence that only a child could possess. Well, she is no more a child. Harry held the frame delicately in his hands, nestling it in his lap, and, as light gradually washed over it, smiled. It was a heartening smile that would have warmed up the coldest land on earth. He truly smiled for the first time that night, grinning from ear to ear like a child who had found his lost toy. Yes, she is no more a child. She is Hermione Granger, a crucial member in the trio.
Ron was in the picture too, only he was a tad bit shorter than everyone else, and now, well, he's a professional Auror. Harry sighed. What could he say? Sometimes life is a game in which you win simply by being the most thick-nerved and naïve, being the happiest and at the same time oblivious to the truth. Harry wondered if someone can really do that. He doubted it. For some years he'd learned to be alone, to forget about the faces and the laughter of his friends, but when the embers of a dying memory is relit, nothing could be merrier than to see it burn again, in reality.
He thought back at the way he interacted with Ron back at the hospital. Everything seemed alright then, so was it him alone who was making up all the emotions that people felt towards him? Something stirred within Harry. He felt sick. Was he once so significant that every drop of feeling turned into an over-magnified bubble that reflected each feeling that he thought people had towards him? And he took that much time to figure it out. That much time. He felt a tear stinging his eyes. He blinked hard, and let it run free. He suddenly felt so filled with regret that he never made more attempts to try to rethink these things through. It was always shoving away the memories, work, and more work. He had locked his mind up for that long.
Harry held the photo delicately in his left hand and grabbed the phone with the other. Hermione must've had a telephone in her house, her apartment, her mansion. She could be anywhere after all these years. She could have been single, dating someone he didn't know, or even married. Harry felt painful not to have known who it might be. He wanted to know, he wanted to know how she was doing. If she is still in London, he thought, if she is still in London. He flipped the photo around, and there it was, her telephone number that she left him when Hermione was still 10 years old. It was even in her handwriting.
Fingers pointing at the first number in the string of random digits, he pressed it. It was followed slowly by the third, fourth and fifth. Everything seemed to hold still until the monotonous beeping turned into a click on the other end. Someone had picked up the phone.
"Hello?" It was a woman's voice.
"He-hello, umm, I'm looking for Hermione…Hermione Granger." He stuttered.
"Hold on a second," the woman turned and called for Hermione, and Harry suddenly had the urge to slam the receiver back down. But alas, Hermione came down way too quick for him to do that.
"Hello?" Hermione said to the phone. It didn't sound like her at all. Harry was desperate to find something to say. She was waiting expectantly on the other end.
"Hi, I'm...I'm Harry." He wasn't exactly sure how he sounded; it didn't seem natural at all.
There was silence on the other end for five seconds before Hermione started to speak again. And when she did, it sounded more like an explosion.
"Harry! Oh my god, Harry! Is that really you?" And without waiting for an answer, she squeaked like a little girl, "I missed you soooo much!" she panted for some breath before continuing, "Where are you?"
Harry couldn't suppress that smile on his face. His laughter rang through the connection line to the other end like a prancing deer. "I'm in my flat; in London…we're in the same city."
"Yeah, well, I came back to my old house just for the holidays, I'm going to India for the rest of the year, and I won't be here for a long time." She sighed. "Too bad we have different schedules."
"What're you doing over there?"
"What do you mean? Here, in my house or in India?"
Harry chuckled. "Care to tell me both?"
"I'm flying to India to help out with some cases which concerns environmental issues. Mostly to do with animals, children, the poor…et cetera. Oh, I study law, by the way." Harry can imagine her carrying out her work, living for her dreams. "Probably not as exciting as whatever you're doing out there," Hermione said, she sounded much more like the Hermione he knew now, though the maturity had done its deeds throughout the years. She sounded wiser though he had only heard so much of her voice.
"Me? I want to quit my job now."
"I thought you said you wanted to be a healer."
"Yeah, yeah I did, but…you'd never guess what happened yesterday. Well, the day before yesterday."
"I'm waiting," another chuckle.
So he told Hermione.
"Harry! You should've called me earlier!" she practically screamed through the phone.
"Well, now I'm calling you--"
"Now's too late! Ron is captured?! Did you say that Malfoy gave you an offer at his army? Oh my god I have to cancel my schedules, I'm going with you--MOM! " Harry heard her shouting across the room to Mrs. Granger, "I'm not going to India anymore! Harry, give me your telephone number, wait 'till I fetch my pen…OK, oh, and tell me your cell number as well--"
"Hermione," Harry felt dizzy, he should've thought this through before he called.
"Oh, right, I forgot, give me Malfoy's number as well; I might need to call him--"
"WHAT?!" Harry was more than appalled.
"Don't WHAT me! You know communication is important, no matter how much I hated him- still hates him mind you- but I have to get to him to know all the details! What Ron was doing in their last battle for example, what faces of the dark side they saw, what they encountered--"
"Hermione, Hermione," Harry started to feel sweat gathering upon his forehead.
"Not to mention that he didn't even CARED about what happened to Ron, like you said, oh that son of a--"
"Hermione!"
Silence.
Now that felt good.
"Listen up; you've got to keep cool OK? No one else can know about this-- For the sake of our hospital's reputation!"
"Harry, Trust me; I won't be so stupid as to use someone's help without de-activating their memory system beforehand."
Oh, "…Right."
"There," she sounded more collected, "so what're you going to do?"
"I'm going to be in Malfoy's army." He had no idea why he could, in a mere split second, come to such a decision in between a conversation on the phone.
"WHAT?!" Hermione imitated his previous expression.
"Hey, I'm already sacked." Harry smiled nonetheless.